


The Apology Game

by teresezs1379



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caning, Corporal Punishment, Dom/sub, Dominant Crowley (Good Omens), Implied Smut, M/M, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Submissive Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), aziraphale gets in trouble, crowley won't tolerate aziraphale putting himself in danger, stern crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teresezs1379/pseuds/teresezs1379
Summary: Just a random scene that came to me... I love top Crowley, no apologies.





	The Apology Game

Crowley was a gentle top most of the time – loving and attentive and stern in all the best and most delicious ways. Aziraphale adored him and adored being under his control. They’d been experimenting with this side of things together for almost a year and had fallen into an easy rhythm of the angel mostly asking for what he wanted and Crowley firmly providing it with his own twist. It was toe-curlingly lovely for them both.

The demon had only two real rules: no lying, and no putting your life at risk. Either of these would result in punishment. To be honest, Aziraphale found the not lying portion a little difficult – he’d grown used to stretching the truth and hiding things over his many centuries of hiding his true nature from Heaven and Hell and even, sometimes, from Crowley. He’d earned a few spankings for fibbing, and a few stern lectures and conversations about how he needed to do better, but he was getting the hang of it. 

Opportunities to put his life in danger had been fewer and much more far between since the failed Armageddon. Which was why he found himself somewhat surprised the day he encountered a mugging in the park and, without thinking, stepped in front of a human and a knife and found himself cut up rather severely. 

Crowley, of course, snapped his fingers and disarmed the man in question (as Aziraphale should have done if he’d been thinking at _all_, really even he had to admit that blocking the blow with his body was beyond stupid), and miracled him home to completely clean and heal his wounds with a grim concentration and a running lecture that consisted mostly of shouting and then finally declined into an icy silence that, quite honestly, the angel found excruciating. 

It didn’t take much to get Crowley looking stern with him, Aziraphale had found, but his lover could usually be brought around to an eye roll and a cuddle with a bit of sweetness, or barring that, a little bit of pouting. But with the way Crowley was glaring at him right now, Aziraphale had the very uncomfortable feeling he was not going to have an easy time wiggling out of this one. 

.

“Right, then,” Crowley said, examining the angel’s now healed ribs. “Still hurt at all?”

Aziraphale stretched a little and noted no discomfort. “No,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

“All right,” the demon said, sounding distant and impersonal in that way he did when the angel needed correction. “Then it’s time to talk about punishment. Tell me your safeword?” 

Aziraphale swallowed. “Eden,” he mumbled.

“Good.” 

Crowley marched him over to the desk and pushed down on his neck until Aziraphale was bent over it at a sharp angle, hands spread wide across the surface and his arse in the air. Aziraphale shivered as his clothing disappeared with a dramatic snap from the demon. 

“Stay put, and keep your hands on the desk,” Crowley commanded, striding away. Aziraphale craned his neck around as much as he dared and noted Crowley picking up one of the thin, whippy canes from the umbrella stand by the door. Aziraphale cursed silently. He hated the cane. Crowley knew that and almost never used it on him. Certainly never in this type of mood, before.

Crowley wasted no time in raising the cane high and then whipping it down onto the angel’s posterior, hard. Aziraphale gasped as a sudden blooming of fire broke out in his backside, and his hands scrabbled against the desk for purchase. 

“So,” Crowley said, “think you can just run around and put your life in danger with no consequences?” 

He swung again, with a crisp thwack as the cane bit in just below the last stroke. 

“No!” Aziraphale shouted. “I mean I don’t! Think that – Oh lord, Crowley that hurts quite a bit more than –” 

“It’s meant to,” Crowley said grimly, adding two more strokes below the initial two. “What have I always told you?” 

Aziraphale gasped for breath, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. “That I’ll be punished if I imperil myself.”

“Correct.” 

Crowley took his measured time laying each of another dozen strokes on the angel, each one lying impossibly close to the one above it, until the angel’s entire bottom felt like a sea of fire. Aziraphale bucked frantically under the onslaught, trying to remain quiet but ultimately unable to stop himself from offering whimpers, then cries, and ultimately almost incoherent apologies. 

The apologies stopped the demon for a moment. He stepped back and assessed the damage, then came over to pull the hair back from Aziraphale’s face as he lay with one cheek pressed into the surface of the desk. He inspected the angel’s red, tear-stained face and considered him a moment. 

“Feeling apologetic, are we?” he asked. Aziraphale nodded frantically. “Good. Then we’re going to play a little game. I can think of at least four things I think you need to apologize to me for. I’m going to give you a moment to think about your misdeeds, and then you’re going to tell me very specifically what you’re apologizing for.” Crowley’s voice got lower and in spite of his discomfort, Aziraphale felt a frisson of desire surge through him. “If I agree with you about what you’ve chosen, you’ll get one stroke of the cane. If I disagree with your apology, you’ll get three.”

Aziraphale moaned. 

“We’ll continue until you get all four correct.”

Crowley stood up and waited a minute or two for Aziraphale to collect his thoughts. 

“Ready? Let’s begin. Apologize to me, angel.” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and tried to control his voice. “I’m sorry I put myself in danger,” he said, starting with the most obvious. There was no way that one would be incorrect, he was sure. 

“Correct,” the demon said impartially, delivering a sharp cut with the cane to his upper thighs that left Aziraphale gasping and twitching. “Next?”

“I’m – I’m sorry for being impulsive and not telling you what I was going to do,” Aziraphale said, knowing this was one of Crowley’s main complaints about him in these situations. 

“Good!” Crowley said, swinging again and landing another stripe directly across both thighs. “Two for two, angel. You might get out of this in one piece.”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think at a time when thought was becoming quite impossible. “I’m sorry I made you angry,” he offered, knowing that one wasn’t going to land correctly but unable to think of anything else. 

Crowley sighed. “Incorrect,” he said. He raised the cane three times in rapid succession and swished it down across the already raised red welts on his buttocks. Aziraphale shouted and clawed at the desk in a desperate attempt to stay in position. 

“Well? Let’s try that one again.” 

The demon sounded impatient.

Aziraphale was intensely aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks. It just hurt so bloody much, and he was so sorry. What did the demon want to hear? 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he finally offered. 

“Better,” Crowley said gruffly, rewarding him with another burning stripe on his legs. Aziraphale collapsed against the desk, making snuffling noises and sobbing from the pain and the remorse. Crowley gave him a minute to collect himself. 

“One more,” Crowley said after a moment. 

Aziraphale burst into a fresh round of tears and near panic. “I’m sorry, Crowley – I don’t know! I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know what the fourth one is! I just – oh god, I’m just _sorry_! Please… I don’t know what you want me to say! Please stop! I’ll do anything, just… please…”

Crowley ran a hand over Aziraphale’s back in a soothing manner and helped him regain his breath. 

“Shhhh, angel,” he said, voice finally soft, “you can do this. I’ve got you. You have one more stroke, okay?” 

Aziraphale took heaving breaths and tried to settle. “But I don’t know –”

“I’m going to help you,” Crowley said. “Tell you what to say. Then you have to be good for me and take one more stroke. Can you do that?”

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting his voice. 

“Tell me you’re sorry for putting someone else’s life above your own,” Crowley said, not unkindly. 

The angel swallowed. “I’m sorry for putting someone else’s life above mine.” 

The cane swished down one more time, landing low on his thighs. His mind flooded with pain, but he dimly heard the cane being put down, and he was gathered into Crowley’s arms and led to their bed, where the demon let him curl into his shoulder. Aziraphale was too spent to even think; he just held wretchedly to Crowley and continued to murmur apologies for some time as the demon kissed his forehead and petted him.

++

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now?” Crowley asked later, after Aziraphale had calmed against him.

Aziraphale hid his face in Crowley’s shoulder, feeling oddly shy. “Thoroughly chastened, for one. That’s rather new. Embarrassed, almost. Usually when you punish me, it’s… friendlier than that, perhaps? Less serious.”

“That’s because it usually _is_ a great deal less serious,” Crowley agreed, voice a gentle reproof. “It’s not usually because you almost got yourself killed unnecessarily.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “And I am sorry, my dear. Truly. Very effective, as punishments go.” 

“The cane?”

“The cane, the apology thing.” Aziraphale shuddered. “I suspect I’ll do just about anything to avoid finding myself in that position again.” 

“You’re saying we’ve finally found a good deterrent?” Crowley teased. “Everything else I do you just enjoy too much.”

“Seems so. Can we please reserve the cane just for truly serious problems, though?” 

“Of course, angel,” Crowley said. “Now what do you think about giving me a kiss?” 

It suddenly sounded like a very good idea.


End file.
